The Wire
by KingRichRock
Summary: AU based on HBO's The Wire. The city of Boston needs a Major Crimes Unit to handle the influx of political crime and increasing presence of drug dealers. Story focuses on Lieutenant Phil Coulson and his team of "misfits" on the cases. Focuses on Hunter's life, Jemma and Skye figuring out how to work together, and Phil and May making good on a bad past.
1. A Problem and a Solution

**The Wire:**

* * *

 **AN: I do not own The Wire, Marvels Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., or any other references I make in the remainder of this story. This is a fanfic, and this disclaimer is only going to appear once here, at the beginning.**

* * *

 _Chapter One: A Problem and a Solution:_

 _Hunter and Jemma_

* * *

"Look Judge, I'm telling you, nothing actually gets done in this city" Lance said, his third glass of scotch in his hand, talking to his friend, Judge Masterson.

"Look Lance, me and every other judge in this city understands the predicament the Departments in. I know you guys can't pursue real cases because the public wants drugs on the table, not quality arrests. They want to see murder rates drop and clean streets, but lower arrest percentages and fewer unsolved murders. It's a broken system Lance. You were better off back in England at the Metro." Judge Eric Masterson finished, knowing he shared the opinions of the entirety of the Boston Police Department, but nothing could be done but hope the public began to have realistic expectations of their Police.

"But Eric, what if we could have a unit A real, honest to God unit that did actual police work. I know this isn't London, but we should have a unit devoted to solving major crimes. Like conspiracy, drug circles, just...everything." Lance said, finishing his drink and helping himself to another.

"Lance, that's your last drink. This was not made for mere mortals." He chuckled before continuing on, "And you have to go solve the McClintock murder. I'll see you around my old friend." the Judge said, and he left.

Lance stood there, drunk, watching as the youthful judge with long blonde hair walked away, a determination in his step. Or a problem with his eyes, as he was good and well drunk three glasses ago before even arriving to the gala to talk to his old friend.

* * *

Lance Hunter awoke the next morning, a slight hangover, and a woman in his bed he didn't recognize. But that was usual. Every night there would be a new one, and he'd love what she could provide him in his inebriated state before he woke up to the reality that he didn't love her. The intercourse had been always been good with his late night hookups, but not good enough to warrant letting her have a cup of coffee before shooing her out.

And today was no different.

"Look," Lance began, actually feigning kindness this morning, as his hangover was less severe than usual, "uhm…. I wanna say…. Katrina?" he said, and she punched im.

"It's Courtney you asshole!" she screamed at him, hitting him on his chest multiple times before smacking him on the face. He just sighed, and extended his hand to the door of his small, downtrodden apartment in Dorchester, a small area of Boston with little respect for the Law, and serious disparity in income distribution compared to other city areas, wathcing her grab her clothes and leave.

Lance could barely afford it on a detective's salary, and that was without paying anything but rent, food, and alimony to his ex-wife Bobbi.

Hunter quickly showered, got dressed, grabbed a bottle of beer and an egg, and hopped in his beater car, driving to the precinct building, downing the beer and raw egg before he pulled in.

He made his way through the dull metal doors of the precinct building, and lit a cigarette before walking to his desk, seeing his partner, the star of the department, Jemma Simmons, was already at her desk, hard at work analyzing and dissecting information from the crime scene and lab reports.

 _She might as well be in the lab. She's more qualified than any of them down there anyway_

"Hey Jemma. Any good news, mate?" he asked sarcastically, knowing nothing new had been found, because she hadn't been waiting for him to enter to show off her find.

"I'm afraid not, sir." Jemma replied back, in her weak, scared British accent. Scared of Lances more than likely irritable mood from the bad news. He already reeked of alcohol at 9 am, but she was getting the feeling her fellow countryman wasn't a fan of tea and biscuits for breakfast. Probably more along the lines of a speedy meal.

"Well _fuck_ Jemma! Two doctorates in Forensic Analysis and Criminal Justice and you haven't got _any_ new info on the perp or victim? Could you literally be any bigger a _waste_ of my time?" He responded rashly, regretting the words from his mouth, but too proud to apologize. He saw Jemma flinch, but he played it off as he took a bottle of scotch from his desk and poured it into his flask he kept in his slacks.

"I'm so sorry sir. I'll go to the lab and just ask for help. Maybe they can help my stupid self comprehend this extremely complicated and incomprehensible data." Jamma said, a bit of sarcasm hidden in her fear. Hunter just grunted as she started to get away from her drunk partner,

"Wait," Hunter started, thinking of apologizing to the young girl who had specifically asked to work with him, a famous detective back in their hometown of London, where he worked with DCI Luther before his retirement and his marriage to Bobbi. But he was a shell of the man she had heard about on the TV when she was at University. She was so excited he had moved to Boston, where she had been recruited by their Department to make progress in their crime scene analysis procedures, hiring her on as a detective to test them out properly.

But with him it had been slow going if any progress had been made. "Look Simmons… Do you think you could grab me something to eat from the vendor in the hall on your way back. It'd be wonderful." he said, knowing he'd blown the opportunity to be nice. _Again._

Jemma scoffed, her feelings hurt as Lance cringed a little before drinking a full flask of scotch, and refilled his source of escape from emotions before looking at the file Jemma Simmons had expertly prepared on his desk, with a nice note on it for him.

 _She's so nice and she's stuck with me. I really hope I can get that transfer through to her for downtown. She'd make a good Detective Sergeant._

Lance looked up, seeing his buddy Alphonso Mackenzie, who insisted on being called Mack. But Hinter rarely cared what people wanted, And he wanted to have a laugh, already feeling the effect of the liquor in his system.

"Hey Alphonso," Hunter greeted, to an annoyed Mack who just glared at him, "Look mate. I need to make it up to uhm…. Jemma that's her name. I need to make it up to her. What does she like?" Lance asked, trying to not slur his words.

Mack scoffed at him. "I swear Hunter, if you have sex with that girl and treat her like the others, I will kill you." He glared, and Hunter threw up his hands to show he wasn't gunning for that.

"No mate. Look, I know I'm an ass to her and I wanted to apologize. She's so nice to me and I treat her like an annoyance. Know what kind of tea or food she enjoys?"

"I do. But what's in it for me to help you out?" He asked sarcastically, wanting Hunter to apologize for calling him Alphonso.

"Uhm." Lance began, before he thought of the easiest thing he can do. "I'll call you Mack from now on."

"Good enough. Alright, look. Jemma is 20 years old, and she's scared of you. Grab a notepad and take all this down…."

* * *

Jemma returned an hour later, a pack of funions in her hand as she noticed her partner was absent. On her desk was a note. A little sloppy, but it was a note.

" _Dear Jemma._

 _Look, I have to go do something. I'll be back. Please look over what I circled in the report. I think we have a lead and I really want your confirmation. I'll be back with food and something to drink, so you're free for an hour or so. Report to the Sergeant with this finding, and then enjoy your time off."_

 _-Lance Hunter_

 _That was sweet…-ish_ Jemma thought to herself, before looking at the report, catching the circles made by Hunter in obscure patterns in the data she hadn't noticed, wondering how the drunk caught it.

She made her way to her Sergeant, and reported the findings from the data before being assigned to her desk for some R&R.

At her desk, a medium height, well built older man with brown hair in a gray suit was waiting for her at her desk, sitting in her chair.

"Excuse me, but who are you?" Jemma quietly asked, sounding more afraid than peeved or angry.

"Doctor Simmons, I'm afraid we haven't met. My name is Lieutenant Phillip Coulson, and I have with me a order for you to be relocated to my unit. You are to pack up your office and move to the Major Crimes Unit headquarters on Brookline street, about 10 minutes from Fenway. It's a small brick building with the number 13 on it. Hard to miss. I expect to see you there at 3 p.m. today, sharp." he finished, her breath knocked out of her in surprise. He got up to leave, before looking at her.

 _Detective Hunter hated me so much he had me reassigned._ She cried a little to herself on the inside, realizing he had thrown her away like a rag. And the tears streamed down her face before she heard Coulson start talking again.

"Look Detective, you're not being reassigned based on your partner's request. He put through for you to be promoted, not removed. And besides…." Coulson paused, seeing Jemma look her head up in surprise before finishing, "I'm taking Lance Hunter with us." and with that, he left.

Jemma packed a box of her things (not many, mind you), and called Hunter on his phone. She got voicemail.

She started quietly by saying "Detective Hunter, Sir, we've been reassigned to a man named Phil Coulson in some number 13 building on Brookline by Fenway. I'm not sure what that is, but please meet me outside the precinct soon. We need to be there at 3." And hung up, sighing before sitting on the bench outside, admiring the shithole she worked in.

Lance Hunter rolled up 20 minutes later, looking tired, but with food and tea. And Jemma smiled a bit before entering his car and driving to the mysterious building for their new assignment.

* * *

Post Credits:

"Lieutenant Coulson, a Judge has informed me he wants a unit made to prosecute Major Crimes occurring here in Boston. Not to be bogged down by the bullshit quotas murder, vice, patrol, and traffic are. You will have a crack team of specialists. Some are misfits. Some are disciplinary issues. But you will fix them. I have a list for you Phil. All of them will help you. All of them are the best, brightest, and most useful from every aspect. You will be a self contained unit, answering to me and Captain Hand. Am I understood?"

"Yes sir, Commissioner Fury."

"Heres your list." Fury said, handing a piece of paper to Coulson, dismissing him.

 _Detective Hunter, Lance_

 _Detective Simmons, Jemma, PhD._

 _SWAT Ward, Grant_

 _Analyst Johnson, Daisy_

 _Analyst Fitz, Leopold, PhD._

 _Desk Sergeant May, Melinda_

 _Sergeant Morse, Barbara_

 _Detective Mackenzie, Alphonso_

 _Officer Triplett, Antoine_

 _Officer Koeing, Eric_

 _Analyst Koenig, Sam_


	2. Assembling a Proper Unit

_Chapter Two: Assembling a Proper Unit:_

 _Phil Coulson_

* * *

"Well, two down, nine to go." Phil said to no one in particular as he was sitting in a small office in the Dorchester Precinct building, watching Jemma Simmons pack up her and Lance Hunters desks in curiosity to the reverence she paid to her partner's items, mostly alcohol containers and notebooks.

 _First goal is to get Hunter to stop drinking. He was at his best when he was sober in London with DCI Luther, who didn't tolerate drinking._

Phil realized how lucky he really was. This was a chance to do real good in a city that was hurting badly from all kinds of crime. The Commissioner had been informed by a certain Judge the other day of his wishes to see more quality arrests on a larger public profile being taken, and from there it was simple. Assemble a team. Analysts, beat officers who can blend, leaders, and sheer muscle for when the going gets heavy.

Phil was pulled from his thoughts as Alphonso Mackenzie entered the office, confused as to why his superior officer had called for him off duty.

"Ah, Detective, it's good to see you. How do you like it here in Dorchester?" he asked cautiously.

"Sir, if you don't mind, who be asking?" he responded, a guarded tone.

"Well. Regardless of your reply I'm your boss and I asked you a simple question." He said, catching an appreciative nod for his honesty from the larger man.

"Well Lieutenant, I do know who you are, even in plain clothes. You're a Vice officer, and you here in the homicide part of the precinct. So I assume you need man power on a bust involving some fatalities? And to answer your question, I hate this damn part of the city. It's broken, grimey, with some of the sleaziest cops in Boston sir." Mack finished, seeing Coulson nodding his head.

"Well Mack," Coulson started, his pause asking permission before receiving a nod to continue. "The Commissioner has tasked me with assembling a solid unit to work this city's major crimes and to build cases on quality information before taking down whole organizations. And not just poor people with drugs. I'm talking councilmen, Senators, and Police. We have to move from the shadows, and keep this unit honest, and I know you would be a good fit. Your clearance rate is through the roof, with quality arrests and perfect conviction records. But you'll have another job too." Coulson ended a little softer than his earlier remarks, trying to soften Mack up to a suggestion.

He received a gesture to continue. "Well look. Lance Hunter is a drunk. A miserable, negligent, and abusive drunk. But he has raw potential. I need you to help keep him in check on cases. And to protect the unit from any of his attempts. He's a good detective, and from my understanding, a good man when he's more sober than drunk. You up to the task?" he finished.

Mack thought on it for maybe a minute before responding. "I think I can do it. But we need to put Simmons back in a lab until he's straightened out. Because when he's sober and they work together, they're unstoppable." Mack finished, Coulson nodding approvingly.

The meeting was done, and as they parted ways, Coulson called over his shoulder to Mack. "Hey Mack, by the way. Prevent him from killing Sergeant Morse, we're gonna need her." And before the stupefied Mack could answer, Coulson had his sunglasses on heading to his car to proceed downtown.

* * *

Phil Coulson entered the main office, the Downtown Boston PD Station, and reveled in the imperfect chaos that was the bureaucracy of the Police Department. All the desk jockeys who would never go out on assignment, but would claim to walk a dangerous beat to the girls they met in bars. All those who would mess up arrests and get away with it. It was a horribly broken system, but there was a beauty to the idea of being a good Police Officer in a better world for these people.

And as he made his way deeper into the belly of the beast, he saw his former partner, a person he couldn't stand to be around anymore. _Melinda May, once a rising star. Now a Desk Sergeant for one of the most incompetent portions of the Department. And without her, it would all fall apart._

"Well hello there May, I have news for you." was all Coulson led with, hoping to grab her interest. All he received was a glare.

"Look may, we need to put this old anger past us. It's not about us. It's about the city and doing what's right. I need you. The Department needs you." He started before she motioned him to stop.

"The Commissioner saw me this morning Phil. I know what you're doing and I know you need someone to funnel reports through. And Fury gave you me. And I can't say no. So save your breath and get the hell out of my sight. I'll report at 1500 like ordered." she said, venom laced in her words as Phil made his way to the elevator, pressing the down button to head to the basement where the labs were placed in an eager attempt to escape unscathed from the angry hell beast that was Desk Sergeant Melinda May. .

"Why hello there." Phil Coulson led with in the room full of scientists all bewildered by the presence of a Vice cop in their neck of the woods without contraband to be tested. "Look," he continued, "I need to see Doctor Fitz, Miss Johnson, and Mr. Koenig. The rest of you are dismissed." he said with authority, while the weaker of the scientists scurried back and the more resilient glared before leaving.

"Sir, what is this all about?" Daisy Johnson asked him, knowing the disciplinary hearing she was probably being called to for distributing police seized marijuana to her friends.

"Well, Miss Johnson," he began before remembering his personnel file notes, correcting to her preferred name. "Sorry, Skye. You three have been selected with the Commissioner's recommendation to be reassigned to my Major Crimes Unit. Best equipment the department can spare to go after the real crimes and make the real cases. Are you three interested?" he asked, allowing them to absorb it.

Fitz and Koenig eagerly reply, while Skye gets lost in her thoughts before deciding to join.  
"Well that's splendid, you two are dismissed. Pack up and report to the 13 Brookline building by Fenway. Skye if we could talk.

 _Shit, he knows_ , was her only thought as she entered a more private office. He just smiled at her before she started to wonder if she was busted.

That was answered quickly.

"Look Skye, you're a virtuoso with your computers. But you need to quit the drug smuggling and illegal sales, because I will bust your ass in a heartbeat now that you're with my unit. No drugs, no more being with those 'friends'" He air quoted, "and no more rebellious attitudes. We're doing this right. By the book. And if you aren't good with that, then you're going to be fired from this department. Because I'm your one hope of salvation before Interdepartmental Affairs has your ass out the door, branded to be jobless for life. So please, take this opportunity and use it wisely." he finished, his angry rant over.

Skye looked up at him, saddened a little by his words, knowing she needed to do better with herself to succeed and stay where she had a safe job and a friend. "I agree." was all she said, and it was all that was needed.

"Your orders are the same as theirs. Have a nice day Skye, see you later.

And as he left, he heard a soft whimper come from Skye a he closed the door, making his way out, not knowing the girl was starting a massive anxiety attack, sobbing on the floor.

* * *

"Ah Mission Hill, the easiest division for a beat officer." Phil coulson said to himself as he walked into the building, noticing several college co-eds locked up awaiting discharge, more than likely for possession, before making his way to the back. There he spotted the tall blonde woman he needed to see.

"Ah Bobbi, it really has been too long." he greeted, a smile lighting up on her face as she approached her former Sergeant from her early days in Vice.

"What brings you here LT?" she asked, studying Coulson's plain clothes attire and his clipboard before returning her gaze to his face.

"I have received orders from the Commissioner to assemble a Major Crimes Unit, and I could really use you and two of your officers here for the unit." Phil started, plowing over Bobbi's attempt to say anything. "And those officers are Antoine Triplett and Sam Koenig." he finished, her face relaxing as she sighed.

"Well sir, that sounds good to me. I can brief them and have them report with me to where?" she responded, revelling in her victory to have her two favorite lackys along for the ride..

"You'll report to the brick building numbered 13 on Brookline by Fenway at 1500 hours. Take both of them with you, and all of your office supplies and gear." he said calmly.

"How many people are on this detail Phil?" Bobbi asked, hoping for a small unit to avoid the corruption of a full precinct.

"Eleven. Well technically twelve counting me. And I only have one left." he said, awaiting her curiosity to get the better of her.

And it did. "Who sir?"

"Grant Ward."

And Bobbi's audible sigh was enough to let him know where she stood on the cold blooded SWAT member.

"Do we really need him?" she asked.

"We do. Commissioner Fury is pulling him from SWAT until he can learn to cool his head and work with a team. He's a good officer, at least on the books. But I don't have the pleasure of seeing him. He's being dragged to the building as we speak by his academy trainer, Captain Garret. He has high hopes for Ward, and I do too. I feel he can be a valuable asset for this team. I'll see you later Bobbi." he said, smiling a little before making his way out of the building to go catch the noon game at Fenway versus the Brewers before heading to meet his whole team.

* * *

Post Credits:

"Look Ward. All you have to do is earn their trust, and catch those they're going after until it's one of our operations. They want you to soften up before moving you back to SWAt. Play it safe, and inform me of everything Coulson's little dream team is up to. You got that son?" John Garrett asked his protoge.

"Yes sir. I understand completely."


	3. Early Problems

_Chapter Three: Early Problems:_

 _Jemma and Skye_

* * *

The building Jemma Simmons arrived at with Lance Hunter was decrepit, without a lawn, and the scariest building she'd ever looked at. Even Hunter had a bit of a scare looking at the building, with the ominous uproar of fans at Fenway Park creeping over down the street.

"Well Lance, are you sure this is it? We are working for _Major_ Crimes right?" Jemma said incredulously, amazed at the state of disarray that their new headquarters was in.

"Part of me feels this is a joke from Mack" Hunter grumbled, his English accent heavy with the weight of alcohol.

"Well, we are early. Perhaps the Lieutenant will be here soon." Jemma said hopefully.

"Ha!" Hunter chuckled, laughing as Jemma went from scared to confused. "Look, Coulson is an American. Even if he's our boss, I saw the Red Sox tickets in his pocket. They're playing the Brewers, a below .500 team, which probably means he's a Wisconsin native, because no one pays to see the Sox romp a bad team on the day of a double header. And the game is in the 8th inning right now, and it's a 45 minute drive with the end of game traffic, because he wants to see his team win one for once. And he has good seats, because the tickets were in lanyards, so he's inclined to stay for the whole game." Hunter finished, rather dryly.

Jemma sat there in complete and utter shock as she had only seen Lance Hunter a drunk who was rather inept at basic functions relating to their cases, but today he had been rather full of surprises. He had done all that on details she didn't know or didn't see. And he did it objectively. But her surprise was ended by the arrival of a car packed with three people. And the car was a sight to see.

The car this woman was driving was packed with two men, one very skinny and the other rather...large… in physique. But they weren't the surprising part. It was the piles of gear and boxes loaded up in this old Honda Civic, with its hatch open and tied down with ropes to stop the excess from spilling out. _It's like they stole a lab and packed it in a car._

And they drove up and leapt out in excitement, disregarding the state of the building.

"Hi!" the Brown haired girl beamed at Jemma, who nervously returned a small smile.

Hunter finally looked up and was surprised by what he saw.

"Well if it isn't little Leopold Fitz" Hunter started with a inebriated slur, and the young skiny man halted in his tracks, recognizing Lance.

"Well, hello there Detective. How may I… be of service…" Fitz stammered, scared of the man standing in front of him.

"Nothing yet laddie. but perhaps you can actually get me evidence from a crime scene here. Cause we both know you didn't with the McClintock case." Hunter spat, turning away to begin another round of drinking in his beat up Chevy Commodore.

"Well that was rude." Sam interjected. Skye nodded.

"I really apologize for him. He was doing so well and was even being a little nice and I'm just so.." Jemma started before she was cut off by the brown haired girl who had so energetically said hi when they met.

"Ah you're Jemma Simmons." she began, and chuckled. "Look, my name is Skye. And I know all about Hunter, because he enjoys tormenting us in the lab every case he gets. So don't apologize for him, because we don't want you to be sorry for such an insufferable ass." She finished.

"Well I'm sorry to hear that." Jemma said quietly. People like her, scientists, brilliant people, were being downed on by her partner for no reason. And she felt bad about it.

"Well let me introduce you." Skye started, a reignition of her perky cheerfulness strained by the former encounter. "I'm Skye. I do computer and data analysis. Fitz here does work on drones for the department that can scan entire scenes for anything, making men like Hunter who are only good at one thing rather obsolete. And Sam here is a psychological evaluator, and works on profiling suspects to get the best results for cases." Skye finished, a chipper smile on her face.

"Well it is a genuine pleasure to meet you all." Jemma said, smiling, her British accent shaking a little with nerves of meeting so many new people. People who could be better and smarter than her and would make her useless.

 _Because that's all I'll ever be._ Jemma thought sadly to herself. But she soldiered through her introduction. "My name is Jemma Simmons, and I'm a Detective with Hunter. I was trained to do biological and chemical analysis for the Department after college, but the higher ups decided they wanted a detective who didn't need to wait for the lab. But the sad truth is, I haven't been in a proper lab in a year since I graduated. I love being a Detective, but I miss the lab work." She reminisced, a look of we on Skye's face.

 _Pretty and brilliant._ Skye thought to herself, seeing her best friend look at Jemma in a non confrontational manner for the first time. _But she won't like me. A stupid dropout drug addict_ was all Skye could think of while looking at Jemma Simmons, who looked honestly glad to meet them all.

Time passed as the five people waited in front of the building for Lieutenant Coulson. It was now 4 p.m. by Skye's watch, and she was surprised he's leave them out to dry like this.

"Hey Simmons, you get the feeling that we're missing something obvious here?" Skye asked, and saw Jemma thinking hard about it.

"Well, I don't know Skye. Honestly, I figured a Lieutenant would be on time to a meeting he set." Jemma said in her serious tone, scared that this was some prank on her. Hunter was chuckling from his crappy car, plastered drunk as the other four were fretting over their new assignment and if they had messed it up.

"Look," Hunter began, "Coulon's game ended 45 minutes ago. But you all…" he started, losing his train of thought from slurred words before continuing with "there be cameras everywhere here. They see us. And we are failing." was all he finished before taking another hit from his bottle and knocking out in the front seat of his car.

Jemma scoffed, and Fitz and Koenig had a laugh at Hunter's drunken antics. But Skye knew this wasn't some drunks fantasy. _She had her own experience being that out of it. His brain isn't coherent enough to make that up_ , she thought. _It has to be the truth, at least to some degree._

"I think the asshat in the car has a point. This screams coincidence that Coulson would set this up so specifically under the Commissioners eye, and they always expect perfection. So maybe, just maybe, Hunter is on to something." Skye says.

And from behind her, a chuckle emerges. "Well Skye, it only took Hunter for you to all figure this out. I guess he will be worth the…" Coulson paused, appearing from nowhere. "Well, Mack will help him. Anyway, welcome to Number 13, Brookline Avenue. Major Crimes Unit for the Boston Police Department. We're an hour behind schedule, so we need to make up for lost time. Leave all your gear here, and Lance will be down shortly." Coulson said before walking back into the foreground of the house , and a tall concrete rock none of them had noticed opened up to reveal a hatch that lead underground.

"Well, I didn't see that coming." Whispered Fitz, and Jemma chuckled.

* * *

Post Credits:

"I wonder how long they'll wait out there before they explore." Phil Coulson mused aloud. Detectives Morse and Mackenzie, as well as Morse's two officers had made it down immediately an hour early, finding the hatch with ease. The others, well. They hadn't so much luck. They even missed May pulling up in her BMW around back and walking through the open back door.

"None of them are ready for case work sir." Bobbi said.

"And that's exactly why four of them are never leaving the lab. But Hunter." He started, before Bobbi shot him a cross eyed glare.

"Hunter was pathetic. He got bored and started drinking so much he passed out!" Bobbi yelled. "He's an Englishman who was murder police for 10 years in the serious and serial Crimes Unit! Do you know how much alcohol it would take to knock him out?" Bobbi asked, her voice bordering on panic at the liability that her ex-husband was.

"I know Hunter is a little rough around the edges. But he was an outstanding detective until your divorce when he moved here to be closer to you." Phil calmly fired back, shutting Bobbi up.

"I don't like it." May said from the dirty desk at the center of the room. "And I don't just mean the desk, which I know will be replaced soon. I mean the five of them. They're liabilities. All of them." she finished calmly.

"That may be. But we'll be handling the hardest cases the criminal underbelly of Boston has to throw at us. And I want this band of misfits to do the job. There's raw potential in everyone here. So we can get to work." Phil finished.

He exited up the stairs to the hideaway hatch in the concrete rock in the front yard that none of the team topside had noticed, and exited out to see them.

Meanwhile below, Mack and Trip looked at the man in the back of the room, dressed in all black, who hadn't said a word yet. And they both knew that he was danger.


	4. Juking the Stats

_Chapter Four: Juking the Stats:_

 _Fury and Hill_

* * *

"God be damned! And damn you too Fury!" were the words from Mayor at City Hall, where Nick Fury was enjoying his sit down.

"Well look Alexander, I can't just give you a 10% drop in crime every time you ask. Mainly because that would be lying to the public for your embezzling ass to win an election." was Nick Fury's quick, level response to the Mayor.

"Well then what damn good are you for me?!" Pierce yelled at him.

"Aside from the fact that the murder rate _is_ down, we have the highest clearance rate for murders citywide since long before I took office under the current Governor, and _you_ complain that we've had a steady 2.5% drop per quarter in crime?" Fury asked incredulously. He was shaking his head as Pierce was mumbling something about how this city deserves a Commissioner who is willing to lower the crime rate.

"Respectfully, sir," Fury interrupted, "I am what this city needs. CompStat is just the beginning, and this new MCU will be able to handle the cases we never even could fathom getting leads on before. Drug organizations, serial killers, _corruption_." Fury finished, eyeing the Mayor before standing up from his chair.

"Look Nick. It's not that the people of Boston don't appreciate what you're doing. It's just that I don't appreciate this moral bullshit in an election year." He said, his fake smile reappearing as his secretary entered the room.

"There's a call for the Commissioner from a Lieutenant Coulson. Say's it could be urgent." she informs him. Her voice full of the daftness that could only come from someone being paid more money than they're worth to do a simple job.

"Well then it's convenient I was on my way out." Fury grumbled, nearly pushing the secretary aside and walked out before turning around, plastering a fake smile before the reporters would see him. And as he walked out, he smiled his own fake smile and said "And you go have a good day now Mr. Mayor." and walked out, letting the press eat up his presence.

Fury caught up to Maria Hill, who was Deputy of Operations, and his direct subordinate. She flashed him a nod before handing him a file.

"Sir, I'm worried about your selection of Coulson's team. You gave him, for better lack of a term, a sociopath in Grant Ward, a drug addict in Daisy Johnson, an alcoholic who can single handedly keep Jamesons in business forever in Lance Hunter, with his ex-wife who nearly killed him to boot; you also have a former suicide attempter in Jemma Simmons, and Coulson himself has a spotty record with doing his job that he gets from above, often pursuing cases that he isn't assigned or solving them in unorthodox ways. Is this team really needed? Because these people all seem like poison for the department."

"Well Maria, your point is valid, but a few points to clear up. First off, Jemma Simmons has passed multiple psych evals and her attempt was 9 years ago. Lance Hunter is probably the most brilliant detective to ever live, period. And he can be taken off alcohol, that's Coulson's first plan of action for the unit. And Barbara Morse can help with that as long as she maintains a civil course of action in their cases. Skye is addicted to marijuana and adderall, not cocaine and heroin, so there's hope for her yet. Phil Coulson is the man that's going to have my job one day, and never has he done something that I wouldn't do in a heartbeat." Fury finished, their stroll through City Hall culminating at approaching his chauffeured Black Chevy Suburban.

"Well sir, that's all well and good, but you left something out about Ward, didn't you? Some redeeming quality?" she asked, holding the door for her boss.

"No Maria, I didn't. You were spot on with that one. Grant Ward is indeed a sociopath." He said, and she just chuckled a little at his candor.

"Sir, if you don't mind me asking, what was the meeting with Pierce for?"

"Mother fucker wanted me to juke the goddamn stats." he sneered, a light chuckle, like he couldn't really believe it.

"And I don't even need to ask your answer. Well sir, I'll see you at CompStat tomorrow." And with that, she closed the door to his Suburban, and walked into her own behind his before returning to the downtown precinct.

* * *

Post Credits:

"Well team, we have our first case, and as soon as we get approval from the Commissioner, we'll begin our case against the City Council for embezzlement, accepting bribes, and gross neglect of Civic Duties." Coulson told his team.

And as his cell phone rang, Coulson walked away, eleven sets of eyes on him as he talked with someone before replying. "Who were you in a meeting with?"

A moment later Coulson chuckled before saying "Well what did he want?"

Coulson erupted in laughter on the phone. "Well Commissioner, thank you sir. We'll be right on it. And I can't believe he asked you to do that."

After Coulson hung up, he returned to the large wooden table in their 'conference area'.

"Sir, are we green lit for this case?" Skye asked.

"We are indeed." Was his grinning response.

"Well sir, why were you laughing so hard?"

"Ah Skye, that would require me to teach you the game. And none of you need to concern yourselves with the game down here.

* * *

 **AN: This is where I wanted to first say anything in the form of an Authors Note. I really hope those of you reading this are enjoying it, cause I actually enjoy writing this, which is a first. And the reason for this being OOC and not even strictly based on The Wire is because I wanted to tell a similar story with characters I love. So it won't be accurate to either show because it's handling its own set of social issues. Please review and give me your thoughts and any ideas you have at all cause I greatly would appreciate it. Also, pairings won't happen for a while because of laying the ground work, and all the problems mentioned in this story will get devoted time to eventually shed light on it, as it will be plot central. So I hope you enjoy. And I'll try to be consistent in updates before I start up school.**

 **-KingRichRock  
**


	5. A Stick-Up Boy Named Lincoln

_Chapter Five: A Stick-Up Boy Named Lincoln:_

 _Lincoln:_

* * *

There ain't nothing to a stick up. You waltz in with your sawed off pump action shotgun, and a .45 on either side of your body, and you shoot first. You don't wait. You don't ask questions. And then you grab and run. But Lincoln had his own flare.

He wouldn't just steal the money or the drugs from the crews he robbed in Dorchester, but he'd burn the drugs and sometimes the money too. He would wage a total war on the fiends who had caused his neighborhood the pain. The pain of police invasions just to fuck with them. Just for shits and giggles.

Lincoln Campbell was a 25 year old, angry young man. He had been dealing with the Murphy gang since his childhood. An Irish gang who had killed both his parents in his youth, causing him to be picked up by his aunt and uncle. And he hated them for it. And that's why he became a stick-up 'boy'.

And he brought money home for dinner every night, and he cleared the corners of the drug pushing vagrants who were ruining his neighborhood. And since he started almost a year ago, he had killed 15 enforcers, and roughed up 23 corner boys. He'd destroyed six raw keys of heroin, flushed a almost ten solid pounds of cocaine. He received intel about strongholds from a childhood friend who worked for the Boston Police Department, but they were too corrupt or lazy to handle anything but murders in Dorchester anymore.

And today Lincoln continued his time tested and true method for hitting these scum. He woke up, showered, got dressed, ate, and threw on a hat and scouted the area, only packing a piece in case he needed to defend himself. After finding a corner with a Lieutenant or in the middle of a re-up, he would mark times and find a pattern. Then he would hit hard. Two or three hits in a day. and enough money for his family to scrape by for another few days.

His sights were set on a crew sitting on a corner outside Ronan Park. The re-up would be there in 10 minutes, so Lincoln lit a cigarette and checked his old flip phone if he had any intel from his usual source of info, and he saw her name on the screen and looked at her message.

 **From:** Skye

 **Sent** : 12:22 p.m, June 26, 2015

 _Look Lincoln, they know. Somehow they know about the drugs I steal. I can't get you the points of acquisition anymore. And I can't get high with you after another one of your corner stick ups. I'll still come over and hang out, but my new boss expects a lot more from me. And I feel compelled to get it cause we're gonna be doing honest to God police work Lincoln._

 _Please no hard feelings._

 _With Love, Skye._

Lincoln felt a new emotion in his stomach he hadn't felt in a very long time. _Fear._

Without Skye, he had no leads on how to easily find the drug caches the police were watching hoping to score some drugs on the table. _Plus no free pot for us. Oh well._ He sighed, remembering the task ahead as he saw the black Range Rover pulling up to the ratty Irish teens manning the corner.

Lincoln stood up, a Red Sox hat covering his recognizable features from notice on any CitiWatch cameras. And he approached looking like a buyer, before he blew a hole in the money man's head, and took out the driver before hitting two more of the corner boys in the chest. And he grabbed the drugs, the money, and his shells, and walked away.

He laughed about his heavy haul, before ducking into an ally and searching the drug bag. He found some pot, which he pocketed, before opening the vials of heroin and pouring them down a drain, doing the same with the cocaine. He burnt the bag, and tossed it into the sewer.

The money bag was a different story. There wasn't the usual grand or so found at a re-up. This money man was carrying the joint sum of the day's pick ups. And he wasn't going to burn this. No. Lincoln Campbell had great plans for this money.

* * *

Post Credits:

"Well this stick-up boy here in Dorchester is doin sumn mate, I just don't know if it good or bad yet." was Lance Hunter's observation at the Ronan Park scene. Him and Antoine Triplett had been called out from Major Crimes in Brookline to get a read on the quadruple homicide, knowing they had their work cut out for them. No witnesses. No surveillance. No suspect.

"Hunter, is it really such a bad thing?" Trip asked, wondering if Hunter was thinking what he was thinking.

"Our file says these Murphy boys have been getting hit like clockwork, and we have 19 dead so far, yet no ones made a fuss yet. All I know is that when a vigilante get's out of control, it leads to bad things. The DCI I was trained under in London had his partner killed in action by a vigilante. So I reserve that this stick-up boy, as you Americans call them, is going to progress in his viciousness, frequency, and expand his target base. There was only ever one good stick up boy, and he got a bullet in his head in Baltimore." Hunter finished definitively, leaving no room for debate.

Since he had woken up, he felt reinvigorated in a limbo like state, where he had the pleasant feeling of being shitfaced while having control of his actions. He noticed Fitz come towards them with his iPad.

"Well you Scottish bastard, spit it out. Any evidence?" Hunter growled, and Fitz took a step back before a glare from Trip to Hunter and a reassuring hand on Fitz's shoulder kept him there.

"Well, ya see sir, there are no rounds here at the scene. Our perp was smart to grab his casings, but I'm sure once we get the bullets back to Simmons at the lab and complete an autopsy, we can have info for you _murder police_ to run with." Fitz finished, packing his scanners in the back of Hunters Commodore.

"Well our perp is bright, I'll give him that. But this pattern is emerging. No drugs on scene, no money. Yet we know these boys were making a trade. Our inside man had that info. So how is it our stick-up boy knows too? And what does he do with the drugs and money?" Hunter finished, grabbing a beer from his cup holder and drinking some.

"Jesus man, how is your liver not dead?" Trip asked his new partner incredulously.

"Two simple reasons, really. One is I'm an Englishman. And two, well you can't kill what's already dead. And I've been dead on the inside since Bobbi left me."

* * *

 **AN: So I hope people like this chapter, as now we are moving into one of the first of five planned major stories to tackle in this fanfic. I got my first two reviews on this story, and so I'd like to thank _LeonKennedy89_** **and _Beverlie4055._** **Thank you so very much, and I would really like even more feed back, so I can know things to improve on and hear from my readers.**

 **And to those who love the character of Hunter in this, he is based on a character from The Wire named Jimmy McNulty, an Irish Homicide detective who is a hard core alcoholic and crappy guy, but a genius detective. A real natural police, as they say on The Wire. But he is a good basis to work on a progression for Hunter.**

 **Also, for the character Lincoln is loosely based on, he is based on Omar Little. The reference to Omar exists because in the circles of people I've met, everyone knows who Omar is. And how Omar was done in. So I thought I'd keep true to bringing in anything and everything from other fandoms. The other fandom connection so far is to the BBC show _Luther_ , which stars Idris Elba, who was one of the main bad guys for the first three seasons of the Wire, and I felt it would be cool if that was who Lance learned from. So ya. Please review, and I appreciate you all who take your time to read what I write.**

 **Have a good night!**


	6. Real Po-lice Work

_Chapter Six: Real Po-lice Work_

 _Hunter, Trip, Skye, and Jemma:_

* * *

"Well Trip, looks like we've got all we can get from here befor Fitz, Jemma, Skye and Koenig do their analysis of the whole scene. Money is that our stick up boy ran down one of the alleys nearby. You good for some honest to God police work?" Hunter asked, throwing his can of beer away before walking back to Fitz, handing him the keys to his car. "You get a scratch on it, and you're dead laddie. You feel me?"

"Well no, I don't feel you." Fitz quipped before understanding it was slang, and quickly corrected. "Yeah I feel you. Not a scratch." and he drove away, making his way back to the Brookline building.

"Well Hunter, where should we start. And what are we looking for anyway? I've never done any detective work, so I don't know what we're even gonna be doing." Trip said. And Hunter knew it's truth. Trip was basically a foot soldier for Vice, pulling arrests on campus for drugs.

"Well mate, today will be Hunters first and hopefully last class of 'How to be a competent detective 101'. And you're a bright guy. Shouldn't be too hard." Hunter said, keying trip to follow him to the grass in Ronan Park.

"Well let's get started then." Trip replied, not very eager for the drunken Hunter to teach him anything, but he needed the skills to avoid being shipped off back to UMass.

"Alright, first things first, you're a detective now. So from here until you're dead, there is no such thing as a coincidence. And we wear plain clothes, and for this unit, not suits. So find a polo in your wardrobe, toss on some pants and running shoes 'cause those will be useful." Hunter mused, looking at the ground in front of them in the park. "Look trip, what do you see here?"

"Two sets of footprints, from people running. And they're close together, so definitely two victims, probably runners who were either spared or overlooked. And the stand-up boy didn't follow them." he said, and Hunter nodded before laughing a little.

"Mate, he's a stick-up boy. This ain't the Catskills, nobody gonna be throwin' jokes here. But look, you're dead on. These are from people in their early teens based on the size and depth. We can get some beat officers on that, and throw Simmons a call so that they toss some plaster in the mold to pick up these tracks. Maybe get a hit on our perp from the survivors if they can be found. And if they were running this way, means our perp probably went the other way accross the street. So lets start there." Hunter said, absorbing all the details of what was around them. He pulled out his radio from his hip.

"Hey Hunter, I'm gonna go look on the street for anythin' to drink. Got a preference?" Trip asked.

"Yeah mate. A good pint of Guiness sounds wonderful." Hunter replied, trying to tune his radio, which was difficult because of his drunk state, and laughed when the number clicked properly.

"Hunter, I'm not buying you a fucking beer on duty. I'll get you Coke." Trip replied, heading to a vendor in the park.

Hunter grinned a little, realizing the instructions from the whole team were clear: _No more drinking on the job._ But he always had his flask.

"Major Crimes, this is Hunter. I have a set of tracks from trainers we need to have plastered. And some uniforms here to track down two possible witnesses. Me and Trip are going to be in pursuit. And when Jemma and Geek squad are done with their task, tell her I want her here with me and Trip. She has a good analytical eye for crime scenes, and we could use her." He finished, waiting for a reply.

"Detective Hunter, this is Sergeant May. I have confirmation of your request and will send the call out. And I'm sending Simmons and Johnson to you for the analysis. Clear?" May answered on the other end, monotonically and briskly. _Ain't she just a pissed off little minx._

"Who the bloody hell is Johnson?" was all Hunter replied, barely remembering anybody from the introduction session that followed his regaining consciousness from a drunken sleep.

"Daisy Johnson, one of our analysts. She goes by Skye…" May kept queuing until he got the face with the name.

"Ya ya, the hot brunnette. And let Coulson know that I'm gonna need Trip officially promoted to detective soon so he can have access to the Departments database." He finished.

"I'd keep your opinions to yourself Detective." May started. _Shit_ , was Hunters only thought, "And I'll let Coulson know. Over and Out."

Hunter just laughed a little as Trip strutted his way back over, a coke for Hunter in one hand and a Sprite in the other.

"Mate, you're basically drinking ginger ale." He stated, but Trip didn't really find it funny. "Anyway, thanks. And Sergeant May said she's sending Jemma and Skye our way. They'll do the molds before joining us on our hunt. So I guess you and Skye are getting a crash course in Detective work. And you'll get the promotion soon probably to the rank, so lets toast to that." Hunter said, and they tipped their plastic soda bottles together before making their way to the first ally.

"Alright Trip, let's look for anything here that may be crucial. We don't know if this is an actual crime scene, so use this" Hunter said, pulling a spare pen from his ants and handing it to Trip, "To examine any evidence, so it's not contaminated. And let me know if you find anything. Check dumpsters, check sewer grates. Anything and everything. Leave no stone unturned." Hunter finished, and they started at work in the filthy alleyway.

It took almost an hour, but they found nothing that could be evidence. No bags, no shells, nothing. By then, Simmons and Skye were wrapping up at the park, and uniformed officers were canvassing the entire area, going door to door asking questions, looking for the two possible eyewitnesses.

They walked up, and both girls beamed at the duo. And both men returned slight smiles before noticing the two were not dressed for the work of a murder police.

"Alright Skye, look, I'm giving you a similar speech that I gave Trip. Buy a decent blouse, wear pants, and black combat boots of some sort when you report tomorrow to work in the field with us. It's dirty, and a dress is impractical for real police work." he finished, and she nodded strongly, making a mental note to do all those things before she went home. But Hunter wasn't done. "And Simmons, you need to get back in the game. I know you love the lab, but you're still a detective, and you need to dress as such every day. You're usually good for it, but it matters now as we chase a serial killer." Hunter finished, and both girls smiles dropped a little.

"Woah Hunter, are you sure this guy's a serial killer?" Skye asked incredulously. "He killed some bangers, is it really that bad of a thing. _Lincoln does stuff like this, and he's a really good guy. Definitely not a serial killer._

"Well Skye, look. Yes he's killing bangers, but vigilante justice is not justice. Because they don't abide the law. They break it. And they murder, and steal the only thing that really matter from a person, no matter who they are: they steal life. And I saw the damage a vigilante can do when they decide to go bigger. Jemma knows it from growing up in London. She remembers what happened to DS Ripley. Vigilantes are no good Skye. They're worse than the gangbangers they kill, because they do so thinking it's right. No drug lord thinks he's doing good. But they think they are God's gift to man. So be careful." He finished, taking a drink of his soda before tossing it at a nearby trash can and missing before waving them to follow him to the next alley.

"Aren't you going to pick that up Lance?" Jemma asked, and he just snorted. _Of course he won't. Why would he. He cares for nothing but himself. Not the Earth. And not me._

"Alright, Skye, you'll be with me so I can teach you the bare basics of detective work. Jemma, take Trip and guide him. We'll take the alleys west of the original one we searched, and you'll go east. Stop when we find anything. And I mean anything." Hunter said, and they divided up as they made their way to searching.

* * *

 _Skye and Hunter:_

"Well Hunter, what are we looking for anyway?" Skye asked as they entered the first alley.

"Anything. A garbage bag out of place, powder on the floor. This stick-up boy's MO has been seize and destroy. So it stands to reason he'd dump the good or burn them somewhere. My money is he might keep some for either personal use or to sell off. But I'm sure he keeps the money." Hunter coldly states, as he's in his zone. His mind shuts out anything that would distract him, and looks very intently.

"What do I do if I find something?" Skye asked. Hunter wasn't paying attention. She shoved him, but still no response. He was locked in.

"Well fuck it." She said, pulling out her phone to text Lincoln.

 **From:** Skye

 **Sent** : 4:45 p.m, June 26, 2015

 _Hey buddy, I'm working my first case as a Detective in training, and my Supervising Detective seems to be making connections that this is your kind of gig. Did you make the hits on the corner boys in Ronan Park?_

 **From:** Lincoln

 **Sent:** 4:47 p.m, June 26, 2015

 _Yeah those were me. They were make a huge trade or something! I pulled of $50,000 from it! We can move our family out of Dorchester and make a real down payment! Buy a house with running water!_

 **From:** Skye

 **Sent:** 4:50 p.m, June 26, 2015

 _That's really great Lincoln! But please stop this vigilante "stick-up boy" stuff. You'll get hurt or go mad. And I can't deal with that. Promise me this was the last one?_

 _P.S.: Can you tell me where you dumped the stash so I can get home sooner?_

 **From:** Lincoln

 **Sent:** 4:52 p.m, June 26, 2015

 _Only for you Skye. Only for you. And I scored some good weed for a celebration tonight!_

 _Also, the stash was dumped in the storm drain in the alley between a butcher's shop and a bank. I lit the bag and tossed it in the can. Good luck. Can't wait to see you tonight! I'm so proud you're making your way up!_

Skye pocketed her phone, noticing Hunter still sifting through garbage, coming up empty, something that was frustrating the drunken Detective. Skye just laughed a little, realizing the next alley would be the needle in what could have been a very large haystack.

"Well, I've found nothing substantial. You?" Hunter asked, returning to the world of normal. Skye shook her head.

"I think we should move on. If he was in a hurry, I'm sure he would have been haphazardly disposing of the evidence if he's gonna stick with his MO." She said matter of factly, wanting to finish up.

"Good point Skye. Let's go to the next one." He said, blazing his way to the next alleyway.

 _Jackpot!_ was all Skye could think. She saw a little white powder on the storm drain that led to the city's sewer system. And the garbage bag had some smoke coming from it, where Lincoln had tossed the bag to remove his fingerprints, stuck on the storm drains guard.

"Hey Hunter, I think I see some powder on this drain. And there's a bag!" She exclaimed excitedly. Hunter walked over and used a pen to snag the bag from the drain. And scooped a little of the powder into a sample bag he had on him before placing the garbage bag in its own.

"Very good Skye. You're a natural at this. I didn't even have time to get in the zone to search. That was some damn good Detective work. I'll buy you a beer to celebrate once we turn this stuff back to the MCU evidence locker. Or whatever our equivalent is." He said, ecstatic. He rang up Jemma on the walkie talkie. "Hey Jemma. Skye found it. Call it in to downtown and get a team out here to guard the site. It's between the butcher's shop and bank. Tell them to send all evidence and tests to the MCU. I'll meet you back at the building. Good work." And he ended.

"I copy you Hunter." Jemma Simmons quiet British accent called out. "Over and out."

Hunter and Skye exited the alley, meeting up with Skye and Trip at Skye's car, before they all piled in and Skye got it to turn over before they rode off, making their way back.

* * *

Post Credits:

"Well Skye, I'm damn… I'm damn proud of ya." was all Hunter could manage after his fourth beer with the girl, who had only had two. _I'm gonna be just as much of a drunk as him at this rate,_ was what Skye thought. But she liked Hunter.

"Thanks Lance." she said, and he kinda just laughed before he grabbed her hand.

"I normally don't let people call me that and get away with it unscathed, consider yerself….lucky." he said, fake anger on his face before he laughed like a mad man.

And from then on, Skye didn't know what was happening. They were suddenly very, _very_ drunk, and in Hunter's apartment together, doing things she didn't remember too well. And she didn't really enjoy it. She liked Hunter, and how he was aesthetically, but she didn't like who he was drunk. Which was 99% of him. And 1% brilliant Detective.

And as they went into his bed to do things she had no intention of doing before three really strong beers, she could only really think of Jemma Simmons.

* * *

 **AN: Oh Skye. Beer and Hunter will never end well.**

 **Well I hope you enjoyed this, please review and what not so I can make this even better. Thank you to all who favorite and follow this story it honestly means so much just to have people reading this!**

 **And I made another Luther reference in there, cause it's the most pertinent as well as The Wire for a moment as we set up Hunters back story a bit. And yes, Hunter is the main character for the most part, like Jimmy McNulty was of the Wire. He'll have the most story time, followed by Simons, Skye, Coulson, and May. All other characters and stories are kind of just there for the purpose of telling a tale.**

 **Again, thank you so much for reading this!**


	7. Home

_Chapter Seven: Home:_

 _Skye and Jemma_

* * *

 _Blue. That's all I see. And a beautiful woman. She gives a light laugh as we run through the park, playing in the wildflowers. And she's gorgeous._

 _She's a little smaller than me, but somehow she's bigger. In attitude. In intellect. In love. She beats me in every single way possible._

 _Her beautiful hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her face had the absolutely most radiant and stunning smile on anyone alive. Her body was absolutely perfect and lovely, which she couldn't believe she was getting to look at. It was covered in a very nice blue pullover sweater and had a crisp white blouse collar sticking from the neck, and it really worked on her. Her black pants and converse were just perfect, and said something even more about who she really was at heart than I can even begin to fathom._

 _But as I run towards her, to embrace her, the Earth sticks to my feet. And I am stuck. And then she falls away, her screams muffled as I try to run, an invisible force preventing me from gaining an inch as I scream for her. And I hear her scream for me. And I fall when I hear the earth shattering crunch of her body below. And in that moment I know Jemma Simmons is gone. And I am here. Alone. And…._ was as far as Skye got before she was awoken by a loudly yelled "Mother fucking fuckity fuck fuck!" from a man next to her.

And then she remembered: She had sex with Lance Hunter while she was plastered drunk during their celebration of her first successful Detective work looking for evidence. "hmm?" she barely muttered.

"Oh God no. Nononono. You can't have been the girl.! Shit!" was Lance Hunter's response to her. And she felt her face redden and hid her naked body under the covers of his shitty bed in his rundown apartment.

"We had sex last night didn't we? A lot of it from how my body feels." was all she could say, disconnected from the man in front of her blowing up and losing his mind in panic. _Bobbi is gonna kill me. May is gonna kill me. Hell, Jemma is gonna kill me._ Is all the Lance Hunter can think, oblivious to the girl looking at him with questions.

"Look Skye, you were amazing. Literally the best. But we can't do this. Look, this is a first for me, but I am so sorry." he said, fear on his face.

"What's wrong Lance? Let's just not bring it up. And ya, it was _good. Fun_ even." she lied, knowing that while it felt good physically, it wasn't anywhere near emotionally satisfying. _No, only love could satisfy me. Make me more than an object. And he doesn't love me._

"Alright. Just. Look Skye I like you but I don't. And I am sorry I took advantage. I've never felt this way after sex before, usually I toss them out when I wake up, but I feel bad. Cause God you've gotta be at least 10 years younger than me. And you deserve better for it. So why don't you shower, get dressed, and go get the gear a night with me deprived you of. I'll call Coulson and say I'll be late today to give you some cover. If you just, please. Don't tell Bobbi." was his response. And he put heavy emphasis on those last words.

"Why not, it's not like she should have any reason to care, right?" Skye asked.

 _Oh God, she doesn't know._ "Look Skye, me and Bobbi were married. We're divorced now because she used to keep secrets from me, and she's why I'm the _lovely_ drunken prick you all know. She's why I came to America in the first place. I could have been a DCI if I stayed in London, but I left the money and the job for her, only for her to leave me a year later. So please just don't tell her." was his frightened reply.

Skye had never seen a man so scared of what could happen to him. Especially not an abrasive asshole like Lance Hunter. But this was absolutely genuine. And she almost pitied him, because he lied to everybody about who he really is.

"Yeah Hunter, it'll be our secret. I won't tell Bobbi." She said. And it wouldn't be that hard, she didn't know Bobbi beyond the brief introduction yesterday.

"Thank you Skye. Please get ready for work. And just, thank you." Hunter said. He ran off to his kitchen area to make himself an irish coffee as Skye showered. When she emerged, he was already drunk, having finished his coffee and half small bottle of scotch.

"Lance, lay off the alcohol. Please. Call Coulson and request a day off. Just, detox. Pease." Skye said, almost begging.

"Ya, I…" he started before hiccupping a little, "I'll do that." he slurred.

"Thank you hunter. Look, I'm gonna go buy those things you told me to. I'll see you tomorrow yeah?" she asked, a little scared of just how drunk he would get on his own.

He just grunted out a noise that she couldn't understand, but she took that as her cue to leave.

She entered her car, and drove to a thrift store on the way to work, throwing on the recommend gear Hunter had told her about, and sprayed a little perfume on her to cover up the smell of his soap, and pulled into number 13 Brookline Avenue with ten minutes to spare.

She entered through the main door, which was unlocked, and saw that the ground level was a meeting room, a kitchen, and a living room like area. And upstairs were bedrooms with beds. But Skye headed downstairs, where every member or the team was but Hunter.

They all acknowledged her presence as she dumped her laptop bag at her station in the lab, and sauntered over to stand between Jemma and Fitz. Her best friend nodded at her to acknowledge her, and Jemma beamed at her. _God it feels so nice to see her smile. Wait. Stop. No more of this. No more being with coworkers._

Coulson cleared his throat, drawing Skye back as he began their briefing. "Alright, we have a lead on the stick-up boy murders from yesterday. An officer caught one of them high on heroin, matching one of the footprints from the mold. He is in detox downtown, and will need to be questioned. Bobbi, I'll need you and Mack to run point on that. Eric, you and Trip are going to go and look for runner number two from yesterday. Hunter is under the weather, so I want Skye and Jemma to go and begin canvassing neighborhoods for info on the perp. May, I need you to run some info through downtown and get all the casework from the McClintock case, which we'll be working with Ward. And Fitz, you and Sam need to examine the ballistics. i want to know what gun those slugs came from, and who owns it. Alright, you have your assignments. Let's get to work." Coulson finished, grabbing his files and walking to his office with May and Ward in tow. Eric and Trip made their way upstairs, as did Bobbi and Mack, while Sam and Fitz entered their portion of the lab, while Jemma and Skye went to the other side.

"Hey Jemma, how are you?" Skye asked, unable to hide how happy she was to see Jemma Simmons. _The girl of my dreams_ , she thought.

"Oh Skye I'm very well. You seem to be quite chipper today, which is just lovely. We need to go canvass near Ronan park, so let's leave our gear. here. Do you have a gun?" Jemma asked, offhandedly. Skye was stopped dead in her tracks. She'd almost failed the shooting portion of the academy, and had never been in the field until yesterday, and had never spent a day of her time at the BPD with a gun.

"Uhm Jemma. I don't. I've never carried a gun before." She said, cheeks reddening in embarrassment. Jemma just smiled.

"Well look here missy, we can't have you heading out unarmed. Here." Jemma said, handing Skye a 9mm Beretta before she holstered her own Colt .45, and slid a huge knife in her boot sheathe before covering it with her tight jeans. _Perfectly tight,_ Skye thought, appreciating the woman who had been making her new job bearable.

"Thanks Jemma." Skye said, a smile on her face. And Jemma's face got a little red, and they just smiled at eachother for a second before fumbling with themselves, feeling extremely awkward.

"Well, who's car do you want to take Skye?" Jemma asked, and Skye felt actually self conscious of her beat up car for the first time ever. She loved her hatchback, mainly because she knew she could never afford a better one.

"How about we take yours, I'm low on gas." Skye said, quietly embarrassed that she hadn't lied.

"No problem at all!" Jemma smiled, grabbing Skye's arm, sending a shock up her arm. A pleasant shock, with her skin tingling. "And we can get us some teas or something from a store to drink and have fun with this. Canvassing is easy and usually not too painful. We might even get to catch the suspect." Jemma smiled, which made Skye nervous.

Her best friend since she was little was the perp, and she couldn't see him go to jail. But she couldn't stand him being hurt or killed either. And she could go to jail for covering up evidence of her wrongdoing. She just was having a hell of a day.

 _I'm standing here with an absolutely gorgeous woman, who really seems to like me as a person just because I exist, and that feels so nice. And she'd hate me and want me to die if she new I was a junkie and was hiding knowledge and that I had sex with Hunter._

They arrived at Jemma Simmons's beautiful, clean, and bright Dodge Challenger, and they hopped into the very nice car that Skye could never have ever even dreamed about owning.

"Wow I feel so bad that you've ridden in my car." Skye said. And it was true, because how could anyone be satisfied by her shitty little beater car her and Lincoln had repossessed from the docks when she was 12.

"Oh don't feel bad Skye. You're silly." She said smiling, and Skye almost didn't feel so bad.

 _Almost._

* * *

They pulled up to Ronan Park, and picked up on where the uniformed officers had left off yesterday. The two of them taking turns asking questions about the possible runners, and found that those who were cooperative knew nothing and those who weren't probably did.

They were canvassing for five hours with absolutely no luck when they decided it was time for dinner. They entered a little pub, and Jemma knew the food here was good. _And the men aren't always hitting on me, which is nice,_ Jemma thought to herself. Skye looked a million miles away at the moment, ost in her thoughts. _Or just hungry._

"Hey Skye, wanna play 20 questions?" Jemma asked her excitedly, and Skye froze up for a second before nodding slightly. She was scared to lie to Jemma and knew she couldn't if she was asked.

"Well you start then silly!" Jemma told her, smiling. _God she's as radiant as the sun._

"Uhm…." Skye stammered, trying to think of things to ask her partner for the day. "Well, have you ever uhm, done the naughty?" she asked quietly, and Jemma snorted, which made Skye feel bad for a second before realizing Jemma was just caught off guard.

"Yes I have. But not for a while now. Not since college really. Only because I was so young in college and most people there felt bad taking advantage of a 17 year old girl with two doctorates." she said. _And I haven't since because I don't want to. It's just not that fun for me. And being raped that last time really hadn't been at all pleasant._

"Wow you really are a brilliant person. Like, it's just amazing. And it's your turn, doctor." Skye said, affection rolling off of her words. _And Jemma blushed a little at how she said doctor,more than she had hoped to._

"Ah, well, Skye." she started, struggling not to relive what had ruined her life, and just trying to only remember it, like Stanley had taught her to. "Oh I got one! How was it in an actual High School? I only ever spent a year at mine before starting college." she asked, and Skye's mouth dropped before swallowing her shame.

"Jemma, honestly, I never graduated High School. I barely even have a G.E.D.. I flunked out of High School in 10th grade because I was too stupid." She said, trying not to cry at knowing how inadequate she was before this human marvel of intelligence.

"Oh Skye, that's nothing to be ashamed of! I'm sure you have your reasons for not finishing, but what matters is that now you're here and we're working together on this exciting case and be friends and I don't think any less of you at all because you're such a pleasant person and I really like being around you." Jemma smiled, grabbing her hand in a friendly manner, and Skye cried a little quietly, so touched by how perfect Jemma felt holding her hand. _She's just comforting you. She doesn't like you like that and never will. And why would she?_ was all Skye could think.

"Maybe this is a little too personal to do on the way to dinner. How bout we do it on our off day on sunday?" Jemma asked softly, her accent was like music to Skye's ears, and she smiled despite how ashamed and self-conscious she was feeling.

"That'd be really great Jemma." was all she could choke out, smiling as they arrived at the pub.

They both walked inside, taking seats at the bar. Jemma ordered a martini and their corned hash, while Skye ordered a burger and Budweiser. They sat there talking about how they liked being police, surrounded by other officers in the pub, which was a frequented spot for police, both current and former, and had a family-ish atmosphere. _Way better than where me and Hunter were at last night_ , Skye thought to herself, recoiling at the memory.

Their food came, and quickly went, and both girls had a few drinks before walking back to Jemma's car. Neither was drunk, just buzzed, and within the legal limits to drive. They knew this because Jemma owned a breathalyzer and they both were under the limit.

"I had a lot of fun tonight Jemma." Skye smiled softly.

"And I did too." was Jemma Simmons's response, her creamy cheeks flushed red with both alcohol and another feeling. But Skye couldn't see because it was too dark out. They were off duty, and Skye could just leave her car at 13 Brookline because she lived close to the building and could walk to work the next morning.

"Do you think you could take me home Jemma?" Skye asked, smiling at the British girl, who beamed at her excitedly.

"I'd be absolutely delighted to!" was Jemma's enthusiastic response, and they entered her car. When they pulled up to Skye's decrepit apartment building, Jemma just shook her head. She followed her friend up to her room, to find a sparsely decorated room with no furnishings, a small TV on a crate, and a mini fridge with no food.

"This won't do Skye." she said, and Skye's face sunk in shame as she walked her friend out.

"Sorry Jemma. I shouldn't have brought you I'm so-..." was all she could say to start for her horrid apartment before Jemma shushed her.

"Look Skye, I have an extra room in my apartment and it's all payed off for. You could be my roommate and kick in a little for food and we could be roommates. If you want, that is." Jemma said quietly, her voice quivering from the fear rejection. Instead she was enveloped in a bear hug.

"Oh Jemma Simmons you know you are the most absolutely kind human being there ever has been? And I would love to. So much. But I don't want to be a burden or…" Skye kept trying to talk while Jemma put a single finger on Skye's lips to hush her, and it drove Skye a little wild how gentle yet firm she had been.

"Don't be silly Skye. Let's get your things and go to my place. Jemma said happily, and Skye just cried tears of thanks into her shoulder as they hugged each other.

They spent the greater part of the next hour packing Skye's things into her bags, there wasn't a lot. All four pieces of furniture, including the fridge and TV, had come with it, so all she had were clothes and some computer gear.

They loaded up Jemma's trunk, and Skye told her landlord she was leaving, and before he could start screaming at her, Jemma Simmons's gave him a death glare that would rival that of a German Shepherd, and he backed down. As they left, he yelled some derogatory slur about homosexuality, which made the two of them a little uncomfortable, but neither said anything.

* * *

They pulled into Jemma Simmons's apartment building that overlooked Boston Harbor, and carried Skyes two boxes/bags up to the main desk.

"Why hello there Fritta. I have a roommate for my apartment. Could I please get her a room card?" Jemma asked sweetly to the lady at the front desk, name Fritta, and she was obliged with a very ornate card. She motioned Skye to an elevator that had a bouncer in front of it, who just smiled at Jemma as they entered the elevator. And Jemma pressed the button for the top floor.

They arrived at the top, and walked the hall of two other apartments before entering Jemma Simmons's apartment, which was a massive sprawling room directly overlooking the bay. It was ornately decorated, and Jemma blushed as Skye muttered a "Holy ficking shit."

"Yeah. My parents are extremely rich. They don't approve of my job, or my lack of a husband, but they wanted me living in luxury if I was going to do a filthy job." she said nervously.

"It's beautiful, just like its owner." was all Skye replied, and Jemma blushed heavily.

They unloaded Skye's boxes in one of the spare rooms, and decided to make dessert for themselves once they unpacked her minimal belongings.

"This is so amazing thank you Jemma. So much." Skye said, hugging the other girl, and smiling into her hair. Jemma felt her heart skip a beat.

"Oh Skye, I just wanted to help you and you're just so sweet and. Oh bloody hell. You're the first friend I've made in all my time as a copper. Hunter is an ass to me. Every other detective looks down on me because he's my partner, and…" she was getting flustered, and Skye hushed her softly before kissing her forehead.

"Look Jemma. You're a wonderful persona and all those people don't know what they're missing out on and…" Skye was cut off by Jemma softly kissing her on the lips. And her emotions exploded as she kissed her back happily.

They both smiled at each other. And then Skye ruined a perfectly good moment.

"Look Jemma, I need to tell you, because I like you and want to get past this. I had sex with Hunter last night, and…" was as far as she got before Jemma Simmons yelped.

"You _what_?!" Jemma exclaimed.

* * *

 **AN: OOOOOOHHHHH. Yeah I did that, and won't be visiting them for a few updates cause I'm evil like that. And also i have to tell what happened with the others from when they split off. So I hope everyone who reads this enjoyed this. Please review or PM me about anything you're curious with or anything. This is so fun to write and audience interaction makes it even more special.**


	8. I Can't Do This All On My Own

_Chapter Eight: I Can't Do This All On My Own:_

 _Bobbi and Mack_

* * *

Barbara Morse is a force to be reckoned with in the interrogation room. Only person better at it was some Detective in Louisiana. He could get them to confess _anything._ But she could one up him.

Mack looked on in wonder at the mad skills Bobbi had. She walked in, sat down, and just looked at this guy. Well, kid was a better term, cause he was only 17. And he was shaking from more than just the low after a hit of heroin. It was pure fear.

"Look kid, me and my partner don't have all day. So tell me, what didya see?" Bobbi said, her words measured, and quiet, forcing the kid to listen to her.

"It…" he stammered. "It was that stick-up boy! Some whitey in a Sox cap!" he panicked. _Well that narrows it down some._ Bobbi thought.

"Look motherfucker, we got you with dope in your system and in your pockets. We'll toss your scrawny white ass in the big house till you die. Give us a name, some descriptors, anything. Cause the more you say, the more free you'll be." Bobbi said, and she had him. Her display of force was more than enough to get the kid stammering. He was tall, but not too tall. Rather skinny. Nice hair. carried a shotgun. And he was angry.

"We're done here." Bobbi said, and she walked out to be met with a high-five from Mack. She was a hell beast, that was for sure. But she was on their side.

"I swear I pity Hunter, having someone who could do that would kill a lesser man." Mack said, exaggerating.

But Bobbi smiled and laughed and replied with "Oh Lance is dead inside. It did kill him into the small, pissant drunk that he is." she finished, laughing.

 _God this woman really is evil. Maybe all his stories were true._ Mack thought to himself, but his face betrayed his attempts to keep his surprise to himself.

"Oh I'm sure Hunter told you _all_ about our relationship. Look, I loved him so much. But he was too needy sometimes. He was too weak of heart. He wasn't a drunk, but he deteriorated quickly once we left London. It's his fault his only friend was John Luther." she said, bitingly, and Mack took that as his cue to shut up and walk out of the building.

"Well we have a plan of what to look for now I guess. Let's go catch up with Trip and Koenig, and give them an assist on this." Mack said, easing the tension a little.

"Good thinking Mack, let's ride." Bobbi said, smiling, as they hopped in her convertible and drove away.

* * *

 _Phil, May, and Ward:_

"Well Sir, as honored as I am to take a swing with the big dogs, why am I here and not back at base coordinating?" Ward asked from the backseat of May's Lexus.

"Well Ward, look. Yes, you're a brilliant tactical mind, but you're a, what di Maria wrote in his case file?" Phil asked, looking at May, who cracked the wrist of smiles.

"It looked like a pile of shit with needles." She said, and Coulson could swear she almost laughed.

Ward was indignant. "Look Ward, it was supposed to be a porcupine. My goal is to make you a hedgehog. Cuddly, but still kinda spikey, ya know?" Coulson asked as Ward just groaned and leaned back into the rear seat.

"Well the two of you are rather chummy. And here I thought you hated each other." Ward mused, and sure enough, that shut the cars occupants up so he could enjoy the sweet silence.

They pulled up to the downtown office, and made their way into the records room to pull all of the info that was stored for the McClintock murder.

"It says here woman, identified as wife of council member McClintock was found raped, beaten, strangled, and bled at the scene of the crime. No prints could be lifted, and as there was no physical evidence, her husband had her…" Phil read, stopping in disbelief.

"Had her what?" Ward asked, genuine interest in his voice.

"He had her cremated. That means we can't build a case without like the gloves this dude wore or a signed confession. This case is gonna be unsolvable." Phil said. They needed the McClintock case to go in their favor, as her husband was a prime suspect in her murder.

"And that's if we're lucky. He could literally pull an OJ and get off." Ward observed, slightly amused.

"Well fuck. We have what we have. May, drop me off at 13 Brookline. Ward, go check up on Hunter. If the man is as drunk as I think he is, you'll need your muscle. We need him to completely detox. I want you to dump all of his alcohol. _All_ of it. And that includes rubbing alcohol." Coulson told him, and Ward grumbled a little.

"Sir, is this really the best use of my time? To babysit a Detective?" Ward asked Coulson, expecting it almost to be a joke. But Phil Coulson just nodded.

"Glad we're on the same page. Feel free to use the expense account to get a pizza for yourself. And some soda. Also, handcuff him to like a sink or something, he needs it." Coulson finished, laughing a little as they left the building. May was slightly amused at Ward's indignation, but this was the kind of work he needed to become more of a people person.

* * *

 _Ward and Hunter:_

Grant Ward walked up the stairs of Lance Hunters disgusting apartment building. It's walls had layers of grime caked onto them. There were cocaine stains on the rugs and broken bottles throughout the hall. He finally approached Lance Hunter's room, and knocked. There was no reply.

"Hey Hunter, this is Ward. I'm with the MCU man, we work together. Coulson sent me here to check on you." he said through the door, trying to sound as friendly as possible.

When no response came, Ward smashed his shoulder into the door, and it gave way like cardboard, and he registered Hunter fumbling around with a gun before tackling the Brit to the ground and disabling him.

"Look Hunter, I'm here to help you man. Just, let's get rid of this." Ward said, throwing the gun well out of reach before grabbing Hunter. He pulled the smaller man up to his feet.

"Why's ya here Ward. Did she tell? Is this ma punishment? Get beat ta'death by Grant fuckin Ward?" Hunter slurred, his words nearly inaudible.

"Look man, I don't know what you're talking about. And I'm just here to, well, do this." And before Hunter could fully comprehend, he was handcuffed and being dragged to his own bathroom. But then he did something Ward would have never expected.

With the grace, dexterity, and skill of a stone-cold-sober soldier, Hunter flipped Ward over him, locking him into an armbar position, grinning proudly.

"Look here, mate." Hunter said, nearly maniacally as he turned Wards face to his. "I was SAS mate, and I was one of the best. It'll take more than me being drunk for you to take me. I know all about you Ward, and I promise you this. I'll kill you before you take me prisoner." He growled, and Ward knew he was right. He had served in the Army, but had no shot at taking down a member of Britain's elite special forces division.

"Alright Hunter, I surrender man. Let's just order a pizza, and I'll tell you what needs to occur here for us to both keep our jobs, okay?" he said calmly, knowing he could lose use of his arm if he did this wrong. But Hunter bought it and relent.

"Now what? Ya gon tell me that this is really Coulson's idear? that he wants me an you to be best of buds?" Hunter mocked, still holding the upper hand, even though he released Ward from his armbar.

"Dead serious man. He thinks if we can get you sober, than having you around would make the job a lot easier." Ward replied, and the easiness of telling a lie let him remain calm enough for Hunter to decide to release him. Once Ward worked his way back to his feet, a little sore in his shoulder joint, he saw Hunter back to drinking a full bottle of Scotch. He was almost a third of the way done before he remembered Ward was in his apartment.

"Look mate. I'm bout to black out. I know's it. I get you won't leave till da job's done. So there's liquor _everywhere._ Do what ya must, just don't flush it. I can't afford that." He said, making his way to the bathroom on his own. He locked himself to the sink, and sure enough, he knocked out.

And so Ward made his rounds, dumping 48 total bottles of any type of alcohol he could find, and there were some in very weird places. He removed some from the toilet tank, some in the walls behind a poster of the model Natasha Romanoff, and even in his underwear drawer. He found many things in the complete ross of the apartment, including something that truly surprised him.

They were a pair of panties with the name _Skye_ embroidered sloppily on them, and Ward let a slight chuckle escape before drinking a little of a bottle of Bourbon on the counter. _So this is who he meant. No wonder he didn't want it getting out._

And with that slight amusement, he looked at his phone, tempted to call the teammate in question about how she'd like her property returned. But Grant Ward had a better idea.

"Hey John, can you get me a location of an Officer Daisy Johnson. You bugged her laptop, so can you give me where she's at? I have a _great_ thing to do in the name of mending fences." Ward sarcastically sneered, and he could hear John Garrett laugh heartily on the other end of the line.

"No problem son. I sent you the location in your built in GPS. She's at the residence of Detective Jemma Simmons. They just pulled in now." he heard from his father-figure.

"Thank you sir, I'll let you know how this goes." Ward laughed, grabbing his keys and exiting the apartment, locking the door behind him. He walked through the sjithole, Skye's panties in his pocket, a huge grin on his face at how he could make her feel awful.

Ward pulled up to her apartment not even ten minutes later, having used his siren on his car to skip traffic and rush there to capture as much amusement as possible.

He walked into the building. A old broad at the front desk gave him a look, and he just gave her his best fake smile before approaching the main desk.

"What can i do you for, sir. You are not a resident nor are you accompanied by one. And we have no appointments scheduled for the rest of the night." she said sternly, his smile growing as he reached into his pocket.

"Look Ma'am, I'm with the Boston Police Department. I'm here for Jemma Simmons. It is pertinent to a case I'm working for a homicide. She is the best mind in my unit and I needed to see her immediately. She wouldn't pick up her phone, but said I could always reach her here.

And as the lady made her move to place a call up to Jemma's apartment, he pressed a button on the phone in his pocket, which led the call straight to voicemail without it registering on Jemma's end.

"Odd, Miss Simmons always answers. Look Mister, I'll let you up, but we need a call from Miss Simmons after you arrive to let us know you're actually here of her will. If not, you will be detained by our security force, an officer of the law or not." she said, and Ward smiled.

"I'm happy to comply with those rules Ma'am. Have a wonderful night." he said, walking past the man mountain that was the bouncer to the private elevator and made his way to the top. He emerged less than a minute later, and made his way to the room at the end of the hall. He didn't bother knocking, he heard muffled yelling and decided a surprise entry would be the most fun.

He picked the lock, and as the final tumbler clicked in place, he grinned, and stood from his crouching position, entering the room and seeing the two girls yelling, not exactly at each other, but not being very calm either.

Skye was the first to notice him, her hands in the air, and before she could speak, Ward smoothly said to her "Hey Skye, i think you might of left these laying around."

* * *

 **AN:OOOOOHHHH God I do enjoy writing Ward. Don't worry, this upcoming chapter will resolve the conflict this leaves open, and it will be juicy. Please review and let me know what you think, cause they really make updating more fun.**

 **Also, check out my other story, Brothers in Arms. It'll be a _very_ different type of story from this, and nowhere near as long in scope. But it should be a good read, and it would mean a lot if any of you tried it. **

**Thank you for reading!**

 **-KingRichRock**


	9. No Spill Blood

_Chapter Nine: No Spill Blood:_

 _Jemma, Skye, and Ward_

* * *

"Oh my fucking God!" was all Skye could muster, seeing Grant Ward, the reclusive man in their unit holding her panties. _The ones I'm wearing_ , Skye thought to herself, and then it clicked. _Oh God, I'm in some skanks panties that were left at Hunter's. This could not get any worse._

"My God you left your panties there?" came Jemma's voice, a few octaves higher in frustration with the girl she had kissed so happily not even five minutes before. And that was quickly falling apart.

"Well, I was over at Hunter's house doing the good man a favor, when I found these beauties stashed away under some other clothes." Ward said, a grin on his face, trying hard not to laugh.

"Oh God, I grabbed some hoe's panties and left mine there." Skye grimaced, hating herself. _I ruin everything._

"Well, good to know." Ward said, nonchalantly. "Look, I don't care _too_ much what you two were bickering about, but I see I'm done here. Have a _wonderful_ night ladies, I'll see you at work tomorrow." he finished, already closing the door behind him. His laugh could be heard in from the hallway, and both Jemma and Skye growled at his enjoyment.

"Look Jemma, I'm sorry. I was drunk, and he was charming, sort of.." Skye was rambling, moving past the douche baggery that had been Grant Ward.

"But Skye! He's an asshole!" Jemma screamed. She couldn't believe anybody could ever be fooled by the actions of Lance Hunter, especially when he was drunk. But here was this beautiful woman whom she had kissed, and who had kissed her back happily, that she liked, who had done the deed with Lance Hunter.

"Yes, he is. And he felt bad about having sex with me. Maybe not as bad as I did, honestly, but I felt bad and we both agreed it was a mistake. Jemma, I told you because I like you and I really didn't want this coming up later to blow up in our faces. Can you respect that?" Skye asked Jemma, sheepishly, putting herself out there for Jemma.

And Jemma struck back cold bloodedly. "I can't deal with this Skye. I can't believe this. I'm just. Look, we can be roommates still. And friends. But. God the one time I put myself out there and this is what happens." Jemma mumbled, walking away, a scowl on her usually happy face, and she slammed her bedroom door behind her.

Skye tried to get her attention, but was both to scared and nervous, and instead locked herself into the room Jemma had given her, and she began crying. And like Jemma, she would do no sleeping that night. Just a lot of crying.

* * *

 _Hunter and Ward_

Hunter finally came to at what had to of been three in the morning, and he had a rager of a headache. He slowly opened his eyes to the blindingly dull fluorescent light in his bathroom, his wrist handcuffed to the pipe of his sink, and he chuckled a little. _It wasn't even original._

And then Hunter tried to contort his wrist like he learned in the SAS to escape a hostage situation, but he couldn't stand the pain with his cumulative hangover. There was a pizza box on his side, with three slices left in it, a bottle of water, and empty cup, and a pot of lukewarm coffee. _Ward_.

And almost as if Ward could feel his name be muttered angrily in Hunters brain, the devil himself walked through.

"Well hello there Hunter. Fancy seeing you here, mate." Ward mocked lightly, using the worst fake British accent he could craft.

"Fuck you Ward! Lemme out!" Hunter yelled, only hurting his head more. And all Ward did was laugh.

"Look Hunter, you're going to be chained there until eight. Then we're gonna feed you, get you showered and dressed, and we're going to go to work. I just finished with Coulson, and you'll be with me and Triplett until you're as sober as a nun. And when that happens, I have something very important to show you" Ward said, and he looked at Hunter almost maniacally before putting on some semblance of professionalism.

"I get it. Could I at least have a copy of the post or something. A book." Hunter asked, and Ward laughed at him.

"No way I'm giving you potential weapons, and by the way, if you throw piss at me after you use the cup, I'll call in saying you need the day off. And you'll stay here tomorrow. So quit bitching. I have TV to watch." Ward said, leaving the bathroom with a thunderous slam of the door.

* * *

 _The Whole Team_

Eight in the morning rolled around sooner than either Skye or Jemma would have liked, and Jemma found Skye in her shower, so she decided to make breakfast and forget the awfulness of the night before.

 _I can't believe her. I put myself out there for the first time in such a long time, and she just. She ruined it with her bad girl shenanigans with Hunter. Of all people, it just had to be that abusive wad of shit that was my partner. But she still slept with him, and I guess she just doesn't want me. Well. Maybe we can still be friends. Maybe…_ Jemma is knocked from her train of thought by Skye poking her forehead, having taken over cooking for Jemma, who had nearly begun to burn the eggs.

"Jemma, the showers open. And. Thank you, again. For letting me live with you." Skye said sheepishly, and Jemma smiled a little before walking away to take a shower.

Skye smiled a little as the smaller woman walked away, and finished the food, throwing it into tortillas with some hot sauce and cheese. She poured Jemma a cup of tea from her cupboard and made herself coffee.

When Jemma emerged dressed like Skye in pants, black boots, and a nice blouse, she smiled before remembering what she'd fucked up. And she handed Jemma her food, hiding her eyes behind her bangs.

They left the apartment at a quarter till eight, and pulled up to the Brookline House with a few minutes to spare, making their way downstairs, where they saw the whole team except Ward and Hunter. _Probably off enjoying tales of how much they've fucked woman over,_ Jemma thought to herself.

But they came in and made their way downstairs, and what Jemma saw surprised her. As did it everyone else.

Lance Hunter had shaved his scruffy beard, and he immediately looked younger, almost happier. He was dressed in actual clean clothes, and his boots were cleaned and shining. He looked like a formidable detective. He also wasn't swaying, but his eyes were squinting and he looked pained. _He must be sober. Or at the very least, coming down with a severe hangover,_ Skye thought, almost impressed. But the look of accomplishment on Ward's face ruined her pleasant surprise, and she remembered he had made things even worse for her the night before.

"Well Ward, I see you did well with your assignment." Coulson said, smiling slightly and nodding to Ward, who looked like he had been handed a gold star. A school boy smile on his face that was so fake it literally looked like it hurt.

"It's my pleasure to help the unit, sir." Ward said, walking to his usual place at the table, and he and Hunter took their seats at the briefing table.

"Fitz, Koenig, any news on the gun used for the quadruple homicide at Ronan Park?" Coulson asked, beginning the briefing.

"Well Sir, we found that the solid slugs were fired from a twelve gauge shotgun, and the gun itself was registered to a man named Seymour Butz. Honestly sir, we found no name matching that description in the greater Boston area, and.." Fitz was rambling, and Coulson cut him off.

"Fitz, Seymour Butz is a gag name. It's a fake, and that's the biggest break we had going for us was who owns the damn gun." Coulson grumbled.

"Hey Fitz, was that entry made digitally or in paper originally?" Skye asked, engrossed in finding out how much they could get on Lincoln so she know's how to protect him.

"Well, it was a paper filing. Registration here say's it was bought about a year ago, first time this 'stick-up' boy made his first hit with a similar shell. But all that old evidence is gone. Someone swept it away really quietly, sir. Like they didn't want it found." Fitz responded, and Skye felt her stomach knot. _I changed the records, and I don't know if anyone here is a better hacker than me._

"Well Skye, why don't you and the geek squad get going on tracing that, and leave the detective work to us real Detectives." was what came from lance Hunter's mouth, and it surprised everyone.

"I agree with Hunter on this, sir." Ward addressed to Coulson, and Coulson alone, ignoring stares from the whole room.

"And what do you mean by 'Geek Squad' Hunter?" Phil Coulson asked, his voice hitched a little, coming to the realization Hunter might just be a fucking asshole sober or drunk.

"Well Sir, I mean the Scottish boy genius, followed by the weirder Koenig, our degenerate friend Skye, and the queen priss herself, Jemma Simmons." Hunter said, the bite in his voice at Jemma in particular was enough to make her flinch, and the whole room looked at him in surprise.

"It would, as much as it pains me to admit, be a good idea to keep the kids here. They're all bright and can make lab headway while the rest of us go out to the field, Sir." Mack interjected, surprising nearly everyone in the room.

"If Mack's with it, I am too, Sir." Bobbi said, surprising Lance, who made a slight smile present on his face before crushing it.

"As little tact as it was said, I'm going to have to agree with you Hunter." Coulson said warily, and saw Simmons head droop.

"I'm sorry Jemma, but you just aren't good for fieldwork, _love._ You're much _safer_ here than out there" Hunter said, venom in his words, and Jemma was on the verge of losing it.

"Sir, excuse me." Jemma choked out as she ran to the lab to get away from the others.

The whole room was rather shocked by what had gone down, but in order to escape and start damage control, Coulson unceremoniously called the brief to a close and almost physically dragged Hunter and Ward into his office.

"Sir, we have information on Skye and Jemma regarding illegal deals made with not only our stick-up boy, but also a British shipping line who has had several known heroin shipments sent to know leaders of not only Murphy's gang, but the IRA here in Boston. And Sir, that shipping line is owned by the father of our dear _friend_ , Jemma Simmons." Hunter said, matter of factly, throwing a large file full of surveillance, logs, and evidence onto the Lieutenant's desk, as well as a smaller manilla one with Skye's personnel file.

"And where did you two come by this information. I see these are copies, who holds the original." Coulson asked, apprehensively, looking at the files

"Well Sir, that would my mentor, who is currently working Vice in conjecture with my old SWAT unit. It would be in possession of Captain John Garrett, Sir."

* * *

 **AN: So there's an update. Sorry, I've been busy watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and celebrating the birth of my glorious country. Anyway, I hope you all like this chapter. I had a bit of a block in deciding where to take this but I like what I've set up. And I hope everyone notices they're slowly becoming unable to solve the political corruption crimes they were intended to? That's intentional, because shit happens in real life, and don't worry, the resolve will come later.**

 **I've also decided that instead of breaking it into chunks, I'm going to tell each portion of the story in one giant story, allowing it to be read straight through. I hope that way, it's easier to go back and catch something missed before that makes a lot more sense later. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it!**

 **-KingRichRock**


End file.
